


Caught Short

by SherlockedWitch



Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental wetting, Desperation, Gen, Omorashi, Tony Stark-centric, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:22:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4259724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockedWitch/pseuds/SherlockedWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark was in a bit of a situation. It had nothing to do with the dozens of men shooting at him and the others, though. No, it was more to do with the fact that he was in desperate need of a bathroom in the middle of a fight. </p>
<p>However, the real problem was whether or not he could hold it throughout the jet ride back to the Tower...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught Short

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: If you couldn't tell, this contains themes pertaining to omorashi. If you're not interested in reading about that, I suggest you turn away now. 
> 
> Also, this is the first fanfiction I've written in literally a year. Plus, it's my first Avengers fanfiction. Here's to hoping that the characterization is at least half decent.
> 
> Enjoy!

He had to go.

God, he had to go.

But he _fucking couldn’t._

Tony Stark was in a bit of a situation. It had nothing to do with the dozens of men shooting at him and the others, though. No, it was more to do with the fact that he was in desperate need of a bathroom in the middle of a fight.

The Avengers had been called to an emergency mission, which didn’t leave much time for preparation. It was suit up, get in a plane, jump out of said plane, fight. There most certainly hadn’t been a bathroom break scheduled in. Which wasn’t a problem for the others—just Tony. The timing of this mission was most definitely unfortunate. He originally thought that he’d be okay. It wasn’t _too_ bad, after all.

Well, that’d been an hour or so ago and he sure as hell wasn’t singing the same tune.

Tony knew he couldn’t afford to focus on it too much, however. There were much more important things going on. Besides, no one gets to take a piss break in the middle of a fire fight, so it wasn’t as if he could actually do anything about it.

The team slowly knocked out more and more of the enemies they were facing. Tony himself flew through the air most of the time, alternating between blasting the men themselves and trying to knock out the weaponry. That was his noticeable actions. The unnoticeable to anyone else was that he was unconsciously squirming as much as the suit would allow him. Tony couldn’t exactly press his legs together, cross them, or even hold himself while encased in the metal machinery he was currently in. Besides, he’d do everything not to have anyone else see him make those particular movements anyway.

All and all, the battle ended about an hour and a half after it started. Everyone was a bit drained of energy, per usual after a fight like this, as they got back onto the jet they’d arrived in. They were about 30 to 40 minutes from being back home at the Tower.

Tony more often than not waited until they were back to take off his entire suit, although it wasn’t too rare for him to get out of it earlier than that. Given his situation, he took off the suit almost as soon as they were in the air. He was now free to move around--with limitations, of course, given that he wasn’t alone.

The conversation in the jet was kept to a minimal level. Talking wasn’t an activity that any of them tended to partake in excessively right after a mission. They were all sitting on seats that were rather like benches placed along two opposing walls in the small jet. With the exception of Clint, however, who was at the front guiding the aircraft. Natasha and Bruce sat on one side while Tony, Steve, and Thor sat on the other.

If anything ever was said in those first 15 minutes, Tony was oblivious to it. He was much too focused on the incessant pressure that was radiating from his lower abdomen. How long had it been since he’d last gone to the bathroom? Hours. He didn’t know how many exactly; but _hours._ For the first few minutes of their flight, Tony managed to get by with just keeping his thighs tense and pressed together, and the occasional shift in position. His problem only grew worse, however, given the nature of it. He unwillingly began to shift around more frequently and with more vigor, one of his legs bouncing frequently.

The first one to notice was Natasha. One, she had a skill-set for observing, and two, she was sitting almost directly across from him. She narrowed her eyes ever so slightly as she noticed Tony’s antsy behavior. She turned her attention away from it, but his movements caught her eye again no less than a minute later. What was up? Sure, the other man could get bored on even the shortest of flights; but this seemed different. Natasha might have questioned him about it, but she didn’t have to. The probable cause dawned on her a moment later.

In all honesty, she generally might have laughed. Made a sarcastic comment or two. But there was something about the almost worried look in the usually unreadable man’s eyes that made her refrain from any laughter or teasing.

Steve took notice next. Even sitting a couple seats down from Stark, he could practically feel the other man squirming around. He glanced over at Tony and was vaguely concerned.

“Are you okay, Stark?” Steve questioned. For all he knew, the other man could be hiding an injury. It wouldn’t be unlike him.

Tony glanced up when he was questioned and mentally cursed. He really needed to be more subtle. “I’m fine.” He lied, feigning a sense of coolness that he most definitely wasn’t identifying with at the moment.

Steve opened his mouth, but closed it without saying anything. Stark didn’t _look_ injured. It was probably nothing important. Probably. So he let it slide for the time being and wordlessly turned away.

The small confrontation in the quiet jet attracted the attention of both Bruce and Thor, who in turn looked over at Tony to see why he was being questioned. _Thanks a lot, Steve._ Tony thought begrudgingly to himself as the additional pairs of eyes fell on him. It meant that he had to try just that much harder to stay still and act natural.

Thor and Bruce looked away after a moment. While both could tell that the other man seemed a bit uncomfortable, neither could tell why.

After another couple of minutes of sneakily glancing at Tony, Natasha was even surer of the fact that her observation had been correct. The guy’s fidgeting was getting worse. Which meant his problem was, too. Curiously, she turned her head to Clint at the front.

“Hey, Clint?” She spoke.

“Yeah Nat?” Clint responded without turning around.

“How far out are we right now?”

“About 24 minutes.”

“Alright. Thanks.” Natasha took her attention away from Hawkeye. Surely Tony could manage that, she mused to herself. Though, she honestly didn’t have an accurate idea as to just how urgent Tony’s need was.

It took all of five of those twenty-four remaining minutes for Steve to figure out what was wrong as well. Against his will, Tony’s shifting and wriggling had increased again, and he looked about one step away from actually bouncing up and down in his seat. God, he had to go so badly, so urgently. Hell, it _hurt_ at this point. Since Natasha had asked how long they had left, Tony now knew that he still had another twenty minutes or so—counting the time it would take to get off the jet and get to the bathroom, in addition to flight time—and he was in agony. Steve frowned as he looked at Tony. The other guy really didn’t look all that good.

Sure, it’d happened to all of them at some point. Needing to go while during a fight or mission, that is. However, it generally wasn’t this dire of a situation.

Tony had to steady his breathing when he felt his heart rate pick up as his mind raced. The last thing he needed was a panic attack right now; especially when it was over _this._ For the first time, the scenario of him actually not making it to the bathroom in time crossed his mind and seemed scarily possible. His bladder was achingly full, his pants putting unnecessary pressure on the expanded muscle. It was almost impossible for him to be subtle now. Tony was tense, shifted in his seat ever few seconds, his hand on his thigh because he was fighting the urge to grab himself to help him hold it, and he was biting his lip in worry. His stature was the epitome of discomfort.

At this time Bruce picked up on what Tony’s movements meant, and he instantly felt a bit of sympathy for the other guy. It clearly wasn’t just an ordinary level of urgency that he was dealing with. In fact, it got so obvious that even Thor recognized the squirming for what it was.

Steve couldn’t help it, he had to say something. He’d already shared a knowing look with Natasha, so he knew that she knew what was going on as well. “Tony…are you going to be alright?” Steve tried to say it quietly, but it was almost dead silent in the small space they were in, so everyone heard it regardless. His tone was more gentle and concerned than the one he would normally use with the other man.

A blush threatened to cross Tony’s face. _Dammit,_ he thought, although he wasn’t exactly surprised. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” He mumbled quietly, avoiding eye contact and keeping up what looked to be a staring contest that he was having with the floor.

Steve frowned. Honestly, he wasn’t actually sure if Tony would, in fact, be fine. Neither was anyone else in the back of the jet. Tony was clearly embarrassed—which was a rare display of that particular emotion—about being caught in such a compromising position, so Steve didn’t want to say anything else to further that.

Five more minutes passed, and Tony was incrementally going downhill. Natasha actually got up and walked to the front of the jet to where Clint was. Hawkeye looked up when Nat appeared at his side. He could afford to, given that they were mostly on autopilot at the moment. He looked at her quizzically.

“We’ve got, what, ten minutes, right?” Natasha asked quietly. Since she was now at the front of the jet and talking in a low tone, the others beside Clint couldn’t really make out what she was saying.

“Yeah. Why? Is something wrong?” Clint responded equally quietly, recognizing that Nat didn’t seem to want the others to hear whatever they were discussing.

“Can you speed up? We’ve got a bit of a situation back there…”

Hawkeye frowned and instinctively glanced back at the other members. It took all of ten seconds for him to see Tony and figure out what the trouble was. And clearly, if Nat was being a concerned friend instead of a laughing bystander, then it must be really urgent.

“Oh…I’ll try,” He nodded, “We can’t safely go much faster while staying on course, though. But I’ll speed up as much as I can.” Clint turned back towards the controls and fiddled with them. Natasha nodded and walked back to her seat. At least it was something.

A faint blush actually did manage to creep up onto Tony’s cheeks as he momentarily had to grab himself to stay in control as his bladder threatened to give up under the pressure and strain of all the liquid he was holding back. The movement wasn’t exactly unnoticed, but it most certainly wasn’t mentioned. Tony knew that at this point the others had to know, and that was embarrassing, but he was thankful that at least they weren’t teasing him or really saying much about it. That was about the only redeeming factor in all of this.

Clint changed the flight path and sped a bit, looking at the new estimated time. “Seven minutes.” He said aloud, turning briefly to look to the back of the jet (well, mainly at Tony) in barely hidden worry. Unfortunately, their arrival time had only changed by about a whopping two minutes. But hey, two minutes could mean a lot in this situation.

Seven minutes. He just had to wait seven minutes. Well, give or take a bit when you counted the time he needed to actually get to a bathroom. He had to go so bad, though. _So damn bad_. Tony squirmed desperately, unable to even try and hide it now. He still kept his gaze towards the floor, his body slightly bent over.

Six minutes. Tony had to grab himself again as a bit of urine leaked into his underwear, and this time, he couldn’t let go.

Five minutes. Clint anxiously kept glancing back every now and then to check Tony’s condition, while the others did the same, not wanting to outright stare at him while he writhed.

Four minutes. Steve, the closest to Tony, tried to offer comfort. “Almost there, man.” He murmured quietly to the desperate genius. It did hardly anything to comfort Tony; it mainly embarrassed him further, but the gesture was appreciated, deep down.

It happened with three minutes left. Tony’s movements could definitely be described as frantic. His hand gripped his crotch tightly as his bladder contracted, his body wanting so badly to just _let go,_ while his mind was desperately trying to will that from happening. A rather long spurt escaped despite his efforts. Tony bit his lip and squirmed, almost bent over all the way in his seat now. God, this could _not_ happen. This did not need to happen. Not now, not here. Hell, not _ever._

All of Tony’s pleading with himself went in vain, however. His muscles started to relax without his conscious permission for them to do so. “No,” He quietly whimpered—actually _whimpered—_ under his breath, but it was still heard. Everyone looked at Tony in a slight sense of panic. At the same time, the hot liquid was beginning to spurt out from Tony, his underwear quickly getting soaked before the urine began going through his fingers. His fingers that were desperately trying to keep it all in despite his body’s rebellion.

After a few seconds, his stream picked up in speed, and stopping it became hopeless. Urine flooded out of Tony, soaking his crotch in seconds. It soaked the seat he was sitting in and still he kept going, urine beginning to run down his pants and drip onto the floor. He finally, slowly, moved his (now wet) hand away. Tony’s body relaxed in response, but his face went beet red in embarrassment. He most certainly didn’t make eye contact with anyone as a bit of a puddle formed around his feet.

Everyone’s eyes widened in response when Tony began wetting himself. After a few seconds they all, one by one, turned their heads away in order to try and given some sort of privacy to the man that really had no privacy at all at the moment.

Clint had turned back around at Tony’s whimpered statement, but averted his gaze, too, when he saw what was happening. He suppressed a sigh. He hated it for Tony that the other man had had an accident before they could get back to the Tower. They all knew just how prideful Tony seemed to be, so this obviously had to be a blow for him.

It took Tony a full minute and then some for his bladder to finish emptying. He didn’t dare look up. God dammit, he should have been able to hold it. He shouldn’t have had an...an _accident_ like a fucking child. His face remained red as he silently sat in a puddle of his own urine. No one said anything.

Less than a minute later, they landed. Tony, unsurprisingly, was the first one off. He practically bolted into the Tower. He was no doubt mortified, and wanted to get away from the situation as quickly as possible.

Tony didn’t think he’d ever gotten to his room so fast. “Jarvis, shower. 110 degrees.” He muttered, going into his bathroom and grimacing as he shed his clothing. The AI turned the water on at the requested temperature and Tony got in.

The rest of them went inside, looking at one another other.

“That was…stressful.” Clint muttered quietly.

“It was probably worse for him than it was for us.” Steve pointed out.

“He’s so egotistical that you would think it would have been funny…but it really wasn’t.” Natasha mused.

“Yeah. I feel bad for him.” Bruce murmured.

The others collectively nodded in agreement.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t talk about it anymore. Pretend it didn’t happen. Seeing as that is what Stark will no doubt do.” Thor commented.

“True,” Clint responded. “And besides this incident…good fight, guys.”

The other Avengers smiled slightly before departing in separate directions to go clean up and most likely fall asleep.

Tony got out of the shower twenty minutes later, rather dejected still, but indubitably more clean. He dried off and dressed in comfortable clothing before walking over to his bed. If anything this stressful had happened differently, he would have nine times out of ten gone down to his lab and worked with things to keep it off his mind. However…this incident _had_ fallen after a rather draining mission. So for once, sleep was going to be his method of choice for distraction.

Tony got into bed with a sigh. Before falling asleep, just as the rest of the team predicted, he vowed to act as if nothing had ever happened.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As a side note, if you have any requests for Tony Stark omorashi fanfics, I'm all ears! Thanks for reading.


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